


Symptoms

by ghettoassenglishman



Series: He's Just Like His Daddy [13]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mpreg, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Unplanned Pregnancy, the signs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 06:47:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4736558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghettoassenglishman/pseuds/ghettoassenglishman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anon Prompt: are u gonna write another part of ur "hes just like his daddy" series? if you are can you do one where ian and mickey tell the gallaghers about either the first or the second pregnancy?? and their reaction?</p><p>I basically did - 6 times Mickey shows signs of pregnancy and that 1 time the truth comes out</p>
            </blockquote>





	Symptoms

**Author's Note:**

> I liked this prompt - instead of them telling the Gallaghers/balls, I wanted it to be so it wasn't planned but everyone found out anyway. I loved the idea of having little signs and that they all clicked on somehow. I hope its okay?? THIS IS THE PREGNANCY OF OWEN BTW
> 
> Mandy is not in this as I have other ideas of how she would find out about the pregnancy so;)
> 
> im-an-angel-y0u-ass.tumblr.com (Message me on there with prompts:))

 

_**Carl (1)** _

 

It wasn't a luxury sharing a room with two other people, especially your brothers, but Carl had gotten used to it by now, and without them he wouldn't feel the same. It sucked that he heard literally _everything_ Mickey and Ian got up to; from Blowjobs, to kissing, to banging at god awful hours in the night. But yet, he got used to that too. It was easy for him to sleep, it was the one thing that he felt he had _pure_ talent for, besides skinning animals and knowing how to use a pair of numchucks without hitting them into his dick.

However, for the last couple of nights, the sound of the door opening and closing against its hinges were enough to pull him away from his vivid dreams of stealing mobility scooters with Frank and pulling out the intestines of his next prolific victim. At first, he thought it was Fiona doing her usual check in, making sure that Liam was okay and sleeping, or even Lip stumbling through drunkenly and forgetting which room was his. After the third night, he finally realised who was making a racket whilst trying to be as quiet as possible.

The sound of feet against the floor were loud enough to throw him awake, Carl turns against his bunk and twists his body into the direction of the sound. Through peered eyes he could make out a figure moving out of Ian's bed, and instantly he knew it was Mickey because the figure was _way_ too small to be his lanky-ass brother. He watched carefully, trying to act asleep, as the figure grunted and groaned moving towards the door. The light from the hall seeped through as the door opened, Mickey walked out with a hand against his lower abdomen, cursing to himself.

Carl followed his movements, hearing the Milkovich walk over the creaking floorboards to the sound of the bathroom door opening. Frowning, he realised that this had been the _third_ time that Mickey had made that trip, and he knew it wouldn't be the last. _Surely no one needed a piss that many times in the night, right?_ Carl didn't understand why Mickey kept on leaving Ian's bed to make the same trip that he had been doing for the past few nights, but it sure wasn't because of all of the Lemon juice the guy had been drinking recently.

It reminded him of the nights that Monica would get up whilst she was pregnant with Liam – the endless walks to the bathroom and back, hissing through her teeth as if she had been pissing out razor blades. Carl's frown deepened; _No. Mickey couldn't be -_

_Could he?_

It wasn't a quick realisation; Men didn't have kids. Did they? Carl hadn't really been educated within the whole men on men thing, hell, he didn't even know the ins and outs of how gay sex even fucking worked. He quietly thinks to himself, trying to work out possibilities – but surely, Ian would of said something.

_If a dude had a baby where he fuck would it come out of? Their dick-hole?_

Carl felt himself die when he noticed the sentence tumbled out of his mouth like a bag of bricks, louder than expected and clear enough for the whole fucking house to hear him. He looks up quickly, scanning the room before his eyes land towards Mickey who had been standing at the side of Ian's small single bed. The brunette had a crazed look on his face, confusion passing over, his eyes narrowing towards Carl's bunk. Carl's mouth opened and closed, he had really fucked up now. Instead, Mickey just flips him off, shaking his head as he climbed back to his previous spot next to Ian.

An hour later, Carl's woken up _again_ to Mickey grunting his way to the bathroom.

_**Debbie (2)** _

 

Despite their living conditions, and the heavy fever that had been passing through Southside, Debbie already knew that no one really got sick in the Gallagher house. After school, she dumped her bag against the kitchen counter before rushing up the stairs to head for the bathroom; _her make-up wasn't going to sort itself._ She rushed up, pushing open the door of the bathroom before she felt it hit against something hard behind it. 

Praying that it wasn't a dead body, or Frank passed out against the tiles, she gritted her teeth before peeping her head around the small gap that she had opened. To her shock, it wasn't her drunken father, nor a body that Carl could possibly find, it was Mickey. In all of his glory, he was curled around the toilet seat, his head lolling to the side as he continued to spill out his guts into the bowl.

A little shocked, she calls out to him, “Uh, Mickey, you okay?”

Mickey turns his head a little, eyes nearly clamped shut, before he vomits back into the bowl with a small groan following. He waves his hand towards her, trying to shoo her from the scene but she refuses to move. “Do you need some water?” She asks, trying to work out what was happening. Sure, Mickey was known for heavy drinking sometimes or even taking his occasional drug, but since Ian had been diagnosed Mickey hadn't touched that shit in weeks.

Mickey shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his stomach. “No, just -” He doesn't manage to finish his words before his food comes back up into the toilet. Debbie flinches back at the smell, one hand still clutching to the door.

Before she can say anything else, Mickey's up like a light, wiping his forehead with a stray towel, his hands slightly shaking with sweat. Debbie steps back, looking him over a little, deciding whether or not to ring Ian and get him down before anything else would happen.

Instead, Mickey shakes his head, “What the hell you looking at? I'm fine.” He pushes past her, rubbing a hand over his head as if he was stressed. That was common these days though. Through the journey of Ian's diagnosis Mickey had been non-stop working his ass off to get money for pills, to get Ian better, and it was clear it had been wearing him down a little. So, Debbie leaves it.

Until, she hears him puking up his guts the next morning, and the morning after that. Each time she went out the bathroom, pushing the door open and offering to help him with a glass of water or a phone-call to Ian; Each time he would refuse, telling her he was fine and walking back to his daily routine. It was strange really, because each time he had puked, seconds later he was back to normal; no symptoms of fever and no word from Ian who would be usually worried to death at this point.

Fiona's words repeated in his mind;  _ Pregnancy is a delicate thing, Debs. But it ain't pretty and it ain't easy; One minute You're up every morning puking your guts out into the toilet and the next you're even puking during the day; sometimes you've just got to act normal, because it sure can be embarrassing sometimes.  _

Just as Debbie was about to question Mickey, unsure what the possibilities might be, he's already gone; leaving behind his sweat-soaked shirt and a lingering smell of sick that almost smelt metallic.

**_Lip. (3)_ **

Lip was done from college for a few weeks; his extravaganzas with his tutor and her fucked up husband had been on the low recently, due to the college board and suspecting students, Lip had to be careful of where his mouth was. Literally. Despite his crazed outburst months earlier, he always stopped by back at the house to make sure everything was okay, especially now that Ian was up on his feet and slowly digesting his disorder.

After a joint with Kevin, Lip really needed fucking water. Or juice. Either. He rushes through the front door of the Gallagher house, pushing back a stumbling Frank and heading over to the fridge to find something that would sooth his dry mouth. As soon as he entered the kitchen he was hit with the smell of take-out, kebab and chips mostly.

Opening the fridge, he scowls towards the kitchen table where Mickey was happily lounging against his seat, devouring what was left in the food boxes. Lip scoffs, “What the fuck you doing?”

Mickey licks his fingers, before turning lazily to Lip. His expression turns to nothing but annoyance, “What do you mean, _what the fuck you doing?_ I'm eating, dumbass.” He turns back to his kebab, lifting it up before his mouth before swallowing it down like a pig in a barn.

Lip pours himself a glass of juice, raising his brow. “Man, I wouldn't class that as eating.” He laughs towards Mickey, who burps loudly, rubbing a hand over his stomach as he reached over to an unopened bag of what looked like chips.

Mickey flips him off, “Fuck off, man.”

Casually, Lip leans against the kitchen counter. “You spend all your cash on that?”

In a scowl, Mickey turns his nose up at him, wiping sauce from the corner of his lips. He takes a bite from a burger that appeared out of literally nothing, “What's it got to do with you what I spend my money on? Who are you, my fucking wife? Stop busting my balls, man.”

Lip lets out a barking laugh, he reaches for the coffee and pours himself some. “That ain't my job, ask Ian I'm sure he'd be happy to comply.”

It was a little out of character that Mickey was literally eating the whole of the take-out shop in their kitchen, nevermind not having a beer resting in his lap. It wasn't the first time either, Lip continued to find Mickey like this on a daily basis.

Mickey happily flips him off with a finger covered in sauce. Lip ignores it, carrying his hot coffee over to the kitchen table with him. Before he sits, he ducks his head to Mickey's direction, trying not to hurl at the gross sight of food running through Mickey's mouth. “You and Ian have a fight?” He asks, still wondering where Ian was anyway.

Mouth still full, Mickey drops his burger into its wrapper. “Why? He fucking said something to you?”

Lip shakes his head, sipping from his coffee. “Nah, you're just acting like a sixteen year-old who's boyfriend ran off with the cheerleader next door because her father owns a Cadillac and you only have a shitty pick-up.” He sits down, pushing away bits of stray food that sat at his end of the table.

Mickey nearly chokes on his food, “You go into too much detail, man.” Mickey takes another bite out of his burger, letting out a satisfactory moan, before turning back to Lip with a flare in his face. “Fuck off, anyway, I'm hungry. Deal with it.”

For the past few days, Lip already knew that, Mickey had created a huge appetite over _everything._ Usually, Mickey wouldn't eat that much because he'd always make sure that Ian had three meals a day atleast. Lip takes a chip of Mickey's plate, before pointing a finger towards Mickey's stomach jokingly, “You not telling me something, Mickey?”

Mickey's expression varies for a moment, before he kicks Lip under the table with a strong force. Lip had forgotten how hard Mickey's hits were. To be honest, he was hoping to forget. He shakes his head laughing, before blowing air onto his coffee in an attempt to cool it down.

Next minute, he hears Mickey pretending to hurl. Lip's face scrunches up in confusion, “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He could guess it was the food, Mickey had been eating shit for the past three days, no stomach should go through that torture.

Mickey places his finger up, before closing his eyes with a deep breath. “I'm going to be sick.” He holds a hand over his mouth, shaking his head as his stomach started to curl. Lip watched, amazed, and confused at the whole display.

“ _Well,_ you did just eat the whole of China.” Lip points to the food, the boxes all empty, wrappers littering the table like an infestation. Mickey flips him off weakly, before leaning forward with his head ducked.

Breathing in, Mickey swats his hand, “That smells like shit.” He looks up, gesturing towards Lip's cup of coffee that rested in his hands. Mickey was going green, and it wasn't surprising after his Man vs Food gig.

Lip tilts his cup, eyeing it before turning back to Mickey. Mickey had been living off coffee for the past month, how the _hell_ could he say it smelt like shit when days before he had recalled it to be _like sex on a Sunday fucking morning._ Lip shakes the thought, eyes narrowing towards Mickey and his weird behaviour. “Man, you drink this _everyday,_ who pissed in your coffee this morning?”

Mickey holds a hand against his stomach, “No one, but someone must of took a shit in yours. Get the fuck out of here with that before all of this crap comes back up.” He attempts to shoo Lip away, kicking at his chair with a hand over his nose to block the smell.

Wondering, Lip steps up slowly. Mickey was acting pretty fucking strange. It reminded him of a lot of things, ones that couldn't be _possible_ in reality. He slaps Mickey's back, smugly, before trying to work out what the fuck was going on.

Ian had said Mickey was going through _“things”_ but it didn't make an excuse for the next week where Mickey was yet _again_ found with bags full of junk food, trying not to puke at the small, hardly noticeable, smell of coffee.

**_Fiona (4)_ **

Something weird was going on. The house itself had been distant, everyone was starting to keep to themselves in a way. Fiona saw it as a teenage thing, that age distanced people from eachother, that she couldn't be a mother figure for the whole of her life. Well, she could, but not in the way she used to. Ian and Mickey had been around _a lot_ recently, and something was _definitely_ going on with them.

Ian was acting shifty all the time; working extra shifts, whispering to Mickey in the hall, checking up on him every time he had the chance, still taking his pills of course. As for Mickey, things were even _more_ strange; The kid literally lived in the house, lounging on the sofa, eating piles and piles of take-out and junk, getting up in the middle of the night around _five_ times to pee. Fiona knew those signs, hell, she saw her own mother go through it five fucking times.

But, no. That was definitely _not_ happening. Ian would of told her.

This night, it got even _stranger._ Ian had gone out on his night shift; he had taken his pills, washed up good, and quietly promised Mickey that he wouldn't be home too late. (Mickey was still a little closed when it came to domestic shit like that, despite owning up _all_ his feelings for Ian only months before.) Fiona had cleaned, ironed, and finally got Carl in from trying to steal some random guys car, when she decided Liam should really get to bed.

She walked towards the shared room and pushed the bedroom door open, Liam asleep in her arms. To her shock, she nearly dropped the little one when she saw Mickey curled up in Ian's bed, a laptop in his lap, and a box of tissues beside him. It was the most _freakiest_ sights she had even seen; Mostly for the fact that she had _never_ seen Mickey so emotional, nor had she _ever_ seen him shed a tear.

Mickey had jolted when he heard the sudden movement from the door, the laptop nearly toppling off his bent legs. He wipes his eyes frantically, trying to pretend that he wasn't silently sobbing his heart out because of some dumb film. “ _What?”_

Fiona doesn't say anything, placing Liam into his small bed, kissing his head before turning back to Mickey with her hands on her hips. “Are you – wait, are you _crying?”_

As expected, Mickey looks mortified. “No, I'm not fucking crying. My eyes keep fucking leaking, probably hay-fever or some shit.” He rubs at his eyes consciously, clearing his throat in an attempt to make the whole situation seem _casual._ He hated crying, even infront of Ian, nevermind Fiona and her narrowing eyes.

Fiona snorts, tilting his head, “ _Sure,”_ Sitting on the edge of the bed, just by Mickey's feet, she tilts the laptop screen back and realises what film Mickey was watching. “Seriously, _Marley and Me?”_ She remembered that film, vividly, she couldn't shake Debbie's crying for a week after watching it; sure, she had shed a few tears herself.

Mickey scowls while she laughs, flipping her off before slamming the laptop shut. “Fuck off, I had nothing better to do.” Except, he did. He could of gone to work, thrown in a couple of late shifts, or tracked Ian down and pestered him for the next three hours, but funny enough (Mickey had no idea why), he ended up watching a film about a dog, who fucking _died._

Chuckling, Fiona swats her hand against Mickey's knee. “ _Actually_ there are many things to do around here; instead, you choose to act like a hormonal pregnant woman, crying all over the place, and prefer to watch a dog get put down.”

Irritated, Mickey pushes off her hand and frowns. “I wasn't fucking crying.”

Fiona surrenders her hands in the air, “Whatever you say. You can cry all you want, just don't expect me to _not_ ask questions.” Hesitantly, she places her hand back on his knee. “You're family, you know, if you're crying I've gotta know why.”

Mickey's not very comfortable with all the family shit, just yet. He nods his head, biting at his lip as tears threaten to fall over the recent events of Marley being found by a god-damn tree. “I can look after myself, I don't need a fucking keeper.”

Despite the Gallagher's always being open, telling eachother everything, Fiona understood why Mickey was defensive over his protection. She felt the same way about herself sometimes; no one was there to protect him, so over the years he had been accountable for his own safety and never needed any help. She understood that.

It still didn't explain why the _hell_ he was crying at this time.

She pats the blanket, “Sure, sure. I know.”

Fiona slowly steps up, giving him a friendly smile before heading to the door. It was unusual, especially to see _Mickey_ sobbing out of all people, but when she looked back, just for a second, she nearly laughed when she sees Mickey pushing up the laptop screen and clicking play on the film.

 

**_Veronica (5)_ **

Over the past few weeks, the heating in the Rub N' Tug was totally fucked. Mickey had missed the payment – despite Veronica drilling it into him that he needed to pay it before the lights finally go off in the place. Kevin was useless, demanding that Mickey had enough on his plate to have to care about a couple of heaters, but Veronica had enough. The girls were freezing, probably scraping the barrel of hypothermia. Today, of all days, she was even _more_ pissed because all the electric heaters had blown and now the girls were threatening to not take their clothes off.

Turning to Kevin, whilst cleaning a glass, Veronica scowls. “Kev, we need to sort them heaters out before the girls fuck off for good.”

Kevin rolls his eyes, flipping the towel over his shoulder. He tenderly takes one of her hands, sighing. “V, we _will_ fix it. We just need a couple of days.”

“ _We?”_ Veronica nearly shouts. “I heard that before. It ain't _we,_ it's us because Mickey can't get his ass behind the bar and actually work for once in his life.” Grunting, she serves the local customer before placing her hands firmly on his hips, shaking her head. This was beyond ridiculous.

Kevin plants his hands on her shoulders, “Give the guy a break, he has eno-”

Pushing him off, Veronica utters, “Oh no, you ain't feeding me that shit again.” Flipping the bar up, she storms over towards the stairs, shouting over her shoulder towards a very dumbstruck Kevin. “If you're not going to kick his ass into shape, I'm sure as hell will do it.”

Taking the stairs quickly, she scans the room for Mickey. The girls were all at work, small transparent curtains held up to _try_ cover up their jobs – it was pointless, Veronica could still see, and hate, the weird shit that the locals demanded. With a scowl, she pushes past curtains, past grumbling drunks looking for handjobs, and finally found Mickey sat against a stool, his head ducked as he counted a wad of money.

Veronica storms over, slapping him over the head. “ _Seriously?_ You have all that money and you _still_ can't get heating in this place?”

Mickey hisses, “What the fuc-” Lifting his head, his hand rubbing at the sore scalp, Mickey scowls towards Veronica before looking back down to his money that he had now lost count of. “I have bills to pay.” He grumbles.

“ _Yeah,_ you do.” Veronica snaps, her eyes narrowing towards Mickey who looked more tired than usual. Ignoring it, she kicks at his leg. “The girls are freezing in here, we can't have them like this. It's torture.”

Groaning into his hands, Mickey chucks the money onto the small table before him. He suddenly steps up, his hand rubbing down his face tiredly. He looked even _worse_ close up; his eyes were rimmed with black bags, drooping as if he had been carrying dead weight all day. Mickey snarls, “Then get them some fucking jackets. Jesus, _I_ can't pay for everything around here. I have people to fucking feed, they can live without heating for another week.”

Veronica feels anger brew in her stomach, “Are you fucking ser-”

Just as she was ready to rip Mickey to sheds with a list of basic human rights, and the importance of keeping the business steady, Mickey suddenly stumbles – nearly falling head first against the floor. “Woah, woah.” Instinctively her hands push at Mickey's arms, placing him upright. “What the hell was that? Are you drunk?”

“Fuck,” Mickey winces, rubbing at his forehead. “I feel – I -” He stumbles once more, nearly loosing his balance if it wasn't for Veronica holding him up by his arms. A little breathless, Mickey sighs, eyes clenching shut. “Fuck, my head is pounding like a bitch.” This would have been normal – especially with Mickey's reputation of the worst hangovers in history – but this had been the third time in two days that this happened; Mickey getting dizzy, holding his head, wincing like a five year old having a headache for the first time.

Veronica leads him back to the stool, “Right, just sit down.”

Mickey shakes his head, grumbling a little. “No. I'm fine. I'm just a little dizzy-”

Rolling her eyes – Mickey was literally a pain in her ass – Veronica pushes him harshly over to the stool that he had previously been sat on. “Sit the hell down before I kick you down.” For some reason, Mickey actually complies – he's acting a little too weird for her liking.

Mickey slumps against the stool, putting his head between his legs as he let out pathetic, whiny breathes. “I don't need you to fucking babysit me, Jesus.” Before Veronica had chance to snap back, Mickey grabs for a bucket – that had been placed beside him, strangely – and hurls his lunch into it.

Veronica turns her nose up at the unpleasant smell, “Great. Just my luck.” She walks over to the broken sink – that also needed to be fixed – and poured out a glass of water before walking back over to Mickey who seemed to be whimpering into the depths of the bucket. “Take this.” She orders, placing it into his trembling hands.

In her mind, Mickey was just hill – probably hungover, or on a come down from the dodge cocaine that he usually sold or sniffed. This was different – it was happening frequently, and even though she could blame it on stress of looking after a Ian and his diagnosis she knew it wasn't that.

Veronica had experienced this.

Hell, she knew about it enough – she had double the dizziness, double the sick, having twins was nothing easy.

That's what confused her – was Mickey... no. He couldn't be.

_Could he?_

**_Kevin (6)_ **

It was Thursday – the usual day that Kevin would expect Ian and Mickey to step in and cause the whole place to go rowdy – and it was unusually quiet at the bar, despite Frank ranting about the worlds political system and how the government was out to make his life hell, and _only_ him. Mickey and Ian had been in for almost an hour, not yet ordering any drinks, telling him about their shit day and boring interaction with Ian's doctor for his prescription.

Ian laughs, finally nodding towards the bar. “You going to pour us a drink, or what?”

Kevin raises his eyebrow, “Watch it. You were becoming my favourite Gallagher.”

Mickey groans, chuckling a little, his body a little too close to Ian's. “Fuck, don't say that shit to him. His head is already too big.” He nudges Ian's shoulder, laughing to himself as Kevin's face pulled into a smile – Mickey was still trying to get to terms with how cool Kevin was with his and Ian's relationship.

Punching Mickey's arm, Ian nearly yelps. “I don't have a big head! Fuck you!”

“Maybe later, if you're lucky.” Mickey winks, nudging his shoulder again.

Even though Kevin felt happy for the two – they were finally getting back on track and it was kind of adorable actually – he couldn't help but want to be elsewhere when they were literally drooling and pouncing all over eachother. Clearing his throat, as he noticed Ian giving Mickey _the_ eyes, he brings out two glasses. “Right, choose your poison?”

Ian mouths something to Mickey – that Kevin didn't really want to know about – before nodding his head towards the rack of beers behind Kevin. “I'll just have a beer, can't go too hard on these med's.”

Kevin grabs the beer, placing it by Ian's arm. “Done. Mickey?”

Mickey shifts awkwardly in his seat; as if Kevin had just caught him trying to steal something, or hide something. No, that's it. Mickey was definitely hiding something. The brunette takes a quick glance to Ian, who just nods, trying not to bite his lip, before he answers, “Just get me a coke, aright.”

Jesus. Veronica was telling the truth; Mickey was acting differently. Kevin, with his mind muddled now, grabs for a glass bottle of coca-cola from the small fridge. “You going through a dry spell or something, Mickey? Been to an AA meeting or some shit like that?”

Suddenly, both men before him go silent – as if Kevin had just ruined a moment, or cracked to code to Mickey's strange behaviour. Still, it was strange. Mickey _always_ had a drink; it was a natural routine for him, and to break that to a simple glass of _coke_ puzzled him. Mickey rubs the back of his neck, before grunting impatiently. “Just get me the fucking drink, man.”

Kevin looks over to Ian, raising his brow as if he was asking _what the hell is going on with him?_ Ian just shrugged, sipping at his beer, taking a couple of glances towards a fidgeting Mickey who couldn't, for the life of him, sit still against the bar stool. As much as he tried to ignore it, Veronica _was_ telling the truth about Mickey's weird behaviour; Kevin didn't know whether to investigate or to give Mickey the god-damn coke.

Yeah, he'll stick to the coke.

**_Liam (+1)_ **

Mickey slams his hand against the tiled wall of the bathroom, irritation vibrating off of his body as Ian tried to calm him down. “It's fucking _broken.”_ Mickey snaps, chucking the ugly, paternity test onto the floor. _(Yes,_ he had taken a pregnancy test, and _yes_ Ian was the one who made him do it.)

Ian sighs, a little overwhelmed with the result – that he _knew_ now was positive – and a little tired. _Mickey was fucking knocked up._ He turns Mickey around to face him, his hands resting gently at his shoulders. “Mick, it's not broken. The doctor literally told us half an hour ago that you tested positive.”

“Fuck that doctor!” Mickey yells, not caring whether the rest of the house could hear what they were saying – even though he didn't want to tell them _anything_ about it just yet. Ducking his head, Mickey hisses – still angry and (he's not admitting it) hormonal. “He's fucking lying, Ian.”

Ian's unsure how to control the situation – he too was confused, dazed, stunned into disbelief when the words left the doctors mouth – but he knew that if Mickey didn't calm down, the whole house would know their business and it escalate badly. Dropping his arms, he scoffs lightly, “He wouldn't lie, idiot. He's a professional, if he lied he would lose his job, you know that.”

Mickey crosses his arms, shaking his head. “No, I ain't believing that shit.”

It was going to be like this for a while – Ian knew that now. He takes a deep breath, letting himself cool down before trying to convince Mickey otherwise. There was nothing they could do – and having an abortion was a _hell no_ for him. Mickey was in denial, Ian could see it. “Listen, Mickey. You better start believing it because you're knocked up,” Mickey winces, Ian ignores it. “The doctor said it, the stick clearly reads -” Ian scans the floor for the stick.

It's not there.

Mickey snorts, his voice slightly breaking. “What _does_ it read, huh?”

Ian starts to feel the fear creep in. The stick was gone. It wasn't fucking there. Shit. Ian knew that if they had lost it there was a high chance that someone else would find it and assume that someone was hiding something. “Mickey, where the hell is the stick?”

The hairs on Mickey's neck stand up. “What the fuck you talking about?"

The redhead gets on his knees, lifting up the floor mat, searching around the toilet, looking inside the bath and beneath the small cabinets; Nothing. It wasn't there. “Seriously, Mick, where the fuck did you put the stick?”

“I threw it to the floor – what do you mean, _where the fuck did I put it?_ It's right fucking there!” Mickey points to the place he was sure he chucked it; when his eyes land by the spot, just next to Ian, he realises that Ian wasn't joking; the stick was fucking missing.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Just as Ian stepped up, running a hand tiredly through his red, tussled hair, they both jump as a scream echoes through the house. “Everyone get the fuck down stairs now! We're having a family meeting!” Fiona. Shit.

Mickey and Ian turn to eachother; they glance from the floor, to eachother, back to the floor. “ _Shit.”_

*******

Everyone was awkwardly huddled in the living area; Lip was slouched against the wall, rolling his eyes as everyone crowded in. Carl was busy playing a video game on the television, whilst Debbie reapplied her make-up for the third time that morning. Mickey and Ian had just rushed down the stairs, their faces red, hands a little shaky. It was awkward. Even Kev and V rocked up, sitting against the chair, all intrigued to why Fiona was stood before them all, Liam by her side.

Carl groans, trying to look at the television. “Why we doing this again?”

Mickey and Ian exchange looks, trying to act casual – despite the fact that they now _knew_ that Mickey was carrying a life form, their _child,_ inside of him. Lip pushes himself off the wall, standing next to Ian. “Yeah, can we get this going, I've got college shit I've got to finish.”

Fiona pulls something from behind her back, her face hard and tight. Mickey and Ian swallow harshly, hearts in their stomach as they realise what Fiona is holding in his palm. “Who the _hell_ is pregnant?!”

There's a mixture of gasps and groans around the room; Veronica is nearly out of her seat in shock, her eyes wide as a birds spread wings. Kevin is on the verge of giggling, his eyes locking with everyone around the room. Lip shrugs his shoulders, chuckling a little. “It ain't fucking me.”

Carl hums, still not interested. “Not me, either.”

Fiona bends her knees a little, looking over to Debbie. “Debs?”

Debbie drops her mirror into her lap, her face turning angry in the matter of the couple of seconds. “Oh _great,_ just blame the girl in the house. It's probably off of the street or something, you do remember where we live, right?”

Everyone looks to Fiona; considering Debbie's accusation. Instead, Fiona rubs at her forehead, stick still in her hand, not yet glancing over to Ian and Mickey who look even more frightened and shifty. “Liam found it in the _bathroom._ So, unless Frank has been bringing used pregnancy tests home, someone's got to start fucking talking or we ain't moving for the rest of the night.”

The room goes silent. Mickey feels his heart falling out the pit of his stomach, he's hiding behind Ian slightly but even that is starting to fall now. Ian's a little shaky, but he's remaining his cool, looking around the room as if he was investigating the mysterious pregnancy stick too.

Then, to Mickey's fucking look, Liam pipes up. “Mouse.”

Veronica leans forward from the couch, “What's that, boo?”

Liam walks over to Fiona, tugging for the stick in her hand. Fiona lets him, a little wary of it, but they watch as Liam stumbles over to Mickey and Ian. “Mouse.” He repeats, until he reaches for Mickey's hand, opening his palm and placing it within his grip. “Mouse.”

Lip turns, confusion spread eagle on his face. “Wait, wh-”

Kevin jumps from the chair, hands in the air as his face brightens up with glee. “I called it. I knew it, I _totally_ knew it.”

Ian's face scrunches up, “Knew what?”

Veronica jumps up next to Kevin, shoving him a little. “You didn't call _shit. I_ told you he was acting weird, _I_ called it that he was pregnant!” Ian and Mickey stay quiet, unsure how to resolve the look and all their faces. Shit.

Fiona shakes herself, before looking over to Mickey, her voice lighter. “Wait, so you _are_ pregnant?” God, she couldn't say it any louder. Mickey felt the words digging into his skin, eating him away. He hated the term.

Mickey just shrugs; He's not yet sure if he can admit to it yet. Ian's close to his side, his warmth shedding a little bit of hope into his system. Unexpectedly, Fiona claps her hands together, grinning to herself. “I knew it! I fucking knew it. _That's_ why you were crying at Marley & Me the other night, wasn't it?”

Just as Fiona runs over to the two cheering by the sofa, Ian leans in, whispering into Mickey's ear. “Marley & Me, _really?”_

Mickey shoves him away, scowling. “Fuck off, Gallagher.”

 

Lip punches Mickey in the arm, his reaction a little delayed. “I _knew_ my coffee didn't smell like shit. Wait – is it even _possible?”_ Even if Lip accounted himself as a genius, he had no clue how a _guy_ could get pregnant. Mickey had thought Lip would of called the _you're not good enough for my brother_ card. 

Ian sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. Mickey was going to kill him for talking later. Great. “The doctor said it was rare, but, you know, it can happen. It's happened before. Some guys just get knocked up.”

Debbie smacks Carl's head, chucking her mirror to the side. “I _told_ you they were going to the doctors, you owe me ten bucks.” She places her palm out before Carl's face, tutting until Carl complied with some money.

“Fine.” Carl grumbles, pulling out some money from his back pocket. Turning away from the television, ignoring the joyful bunch near the window and Lip's confused but scowling face, he turns to Ian. “Hey, Ian?”

Ian breaths deeply, “Yeah, bud?”

Mickey knows what's coming; even before Carl opens his mouth, he _knows._ It's like the kid had a clock in head, ticking until the question popped out. Carl leans his chin up, his eyes narrowing into a squint. “If Mickey isn't a _girl_ where the hell does the baby come out of?”

Veronica calls over, “Baby, they don't always come out of there, you know!”

Carl's face scrunches like paper, “Does it come out of your _dick?”_

The room rumbles in laughter; even Ian's cracking a smile. It was like a comedy, hit wonder, on television; the reaction was just not right. They were happy; weird about it. Lip was shooting spears into Mickey's back, but that didn't matter. Lip was always an asshole.

Mickey just wanted to hurl all over again.


End file.
